


The Competition

by thebrightestbird



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Glam Rock RPF, Queen (Band), T. Rex (Band)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Friendly Rivalry, M/M, Mild Language, No basis in reality, just a silly thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrightestbird/pseuds/thebrightestbird
Summary: “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Marc asks the audience from the stage. He strums a few chords on his Les Paul guitar. “Are we coming through loud enough?” The audience, unsurprisingly, screams a hearty, “Yeah!”  “All right!” Marc screams right back, then makes a borderline obscene sound mixed with a growl to kick off their first song.“See that!” Freddie yells. “I need to simulate orgasm sounds!”Queen and T. Rex perform at a festival. They check each other out — in more ways than one.
Kudos: 10





	The Competition

**Author's Note:**

> A silly scenario that's been in my head for a few days. No historical basis whatsoever. Just a little fantasy with my favorite bands.

The venue is packed and finding a spot in the audience that would have a good view of the stage but would allow some anonymity was difficult.

Marc, being the most determined human being on the planet, insisted he and Mickey scope out the festival’s early performers from a fan’s point of view. Well, a wealthy fan, because they’re in the prime area near the stage.

Mickey looks down at his bandmate. “You are terrible at looking inconspicuous.”

Marc’s curls are stuffed in a slouchy knit hat and his petite figure is covered in an oversized, Sherlock Holmes-style trench coat. “No one’s recognized me. It’s a perfect disguise.”

Mickey sighs. “Shouldn’t we be preparing for our performance? We’re the headliners.”

“Pfft, what do we need to prepare for? We’ve been on the road performing the same songs nonstop. I could perform blindfolded with my arms tied behind me and still-,” Marc pauses and pictures it all. “Oh! Why don’t we do that?!”

“NO!” Mickey strikes down immediately.

Marc huffs but doesn’t continue the thought. “Our priority tonight is to stake out the competition.”

The lights shift at that moment to spotlight the next performers to take the stage: Queen.

||

Freddie leads his fellow bandmates to the side of the stage where festival performers and friends are cordoned off to allow them to watch. It’s not a straightforward view, but you’re not going to get a closer seat for the show.

“Hurry up!” Freddie yells over his shoulder, “T. Rex is already on stage.”

“We’ve seen them before, Fred,” Brian says. “What’s the hurry?”

“They are the biggest band on the planet right now. We need to take notes.”

“We’re doing well with our own style,” John says, defensively. “But I’m looking forward to seeing them again. Marc puts on a great show.”

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Marc asks the audience from the stage. He strums a few chords on his Les Paul guitar. “Are we coming through loud enough?” The audience, unsurprisingly, screams a hearty, “Yeah!” “All right!” Marc screams right back, then makes a borderline obscene sound mixed with a growl to kick off their first song.

“See that!” Freddie yells. “I need to simulate orgasm sounds!”

“Freddie!” Brian exclaims, absolutely abashed at the thought. “You practically hump my legs on stage. You don’t need to add noises to it!”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should, Freddie,” Roger says. “That was hot.”

“Right!” Freddie frantically nods in agreement.

||

“Mickey, look at those outfits!”

Mickey notes that Freddie and Brian are both wearing white, winglike blouses. “That’s new. Looks good on them.”

“They look like angels! Fucking brilliant costumes,” Marc gawks. “Zandra’s been holding out on me!”

Mickey knows that’s not true. “She’s given you some unique and striking looks.”

“No, I must see her immediately for some new stagewear. What’s on my schedule tomorrow?”

“I’m not your fucking secretary, Marc.”

“You’re coming along,” Marc ignores the snark. “A body like yours deserves better than denim.”

Mickey’s jaw drops, equal parts outraged and flattered.

“Come on, write it down on the schedule or I’ll forget,” Marc insists, oblivious to his bandmate’s conflicting emotions. “I think I’ll ask for something with capes.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and takes out the notepad tucked in his back pocket to jot down a visit to Zandra Rhodes for some time tomorrow.

||

“This shit’s awesome,” Roger says in awe. His head won’t stop bopping and his hands instinctively mimic the drumming patterns he’s hearing.

“ _Baby, I want to buy you a Cadillac,”_ Marc sings. “ _I bought it with my song, but you say that you’re gonna give it back._ ”

“Why don’t we have more songs involving cars?” Roger wonders aloud.

Freddie looks flatly in response.

||

“ _Come tonight, Come to the ogre site, Come to the ogre-battle-fight!_ ” Freddie sings with impressive power.

Despite the roar of the crowd and the volume of Queen’s performance, Mickey can still hear a high-pitched squeal of delight coming from his bandmate.

“A fucking song about ogres! Listen to it, Mickey!”

“I can’t NOT hear the damn song. Roger’s beating the hell out of those drums.”

“It’s magnificent! God, I could have done this with the entire “Unicorn” album. It’s like they’re acting out the battle with their instruments.”

“You could never have made that sound with your guitar,” Mickey remarks.

Marc looks at him, betrayal etched on his face.

“Not to say you’re bad at the guitar, relax,” Mickey quickly amends. “It’s Brian’s guitar. No other guitar sounds like that.”

Marc sighs. He’s constantly working on his guitar ability, but Mickey’s right. Brian May wields a truly magical weapon of sound.

||

“And I thought we didn’t know when to end a song,” John remarks with wonder after witnessing a hefty solo from the T. Rex guitarist, then some enthusiastic bongo work with Mickey. “Get It On” is a phenomenal groove, catchy as hell, and an event to behold on stage.

“Jesus, what’s Marc doing now with that tambourine and the guitar?” Brian stares, astounded. “He’s actually playing the guitar with it. I can’t believe this.”

“Yeah! Get it!” Roger shouts and whoops with the crowd, far gone from taking any notes or gleaning anything from the performance for possible use for Queen like Freddie wanted. He’s just a fan like the rest of them.

And so is Freddie. Marc finally — _finally —_ wraps up the song and gives his goodbye bows. “Fuck me,” Freddie exclaims breathlessly, “that was hot.”

||

The backstage afterparty is raucous given all the different bands that performed during the festival. There is no shortage of fascinating personalities to interact with.

However, the brightest stars of the evening can’t help but only seek out each other.

“Freddie Bulsara!” Marc shouts. “You were fucking brilliant, mate!”

Freddie goes crashing into Marc for a fierce hug. “So were you! Oh, absolutely gorgeous, darling!” After getting his fill of hugging, he gives Marc one of his rare, unguarded smiles. “And so you know, it’s ‘Mercury’ now.”

“What’s ‘Mercury’?”

“My surname. I legally changed it.”

Marc gapes, “Really? Like, the messenger god? That Mercury?”

Freddie nods.

“Oh, I’m jealous. What god could I change my name to, Mickey?”

“Oh, please. If you were really willing to change your name, it would already be some unpronounceable thing from a Tolkien work.”

Freddie can’t help but turn his attention to the handsome T. Rex band member. “Mickey, darling, you were fabulous tonight,” he practically purrs the compliment.

Mickey instantly blushes. “Uh, umm, thank you, Freddie. You were great as well.”

Queen’s lead singer moves more into Mickey’s personal space. “The way you struck those bongos with such force and enthusiasm,” Freddie trails off with a dreamy sigh. “I know how terribly hard on the hands it is to bang on those things all night, so if you want a pair of something else to slap-”

“Freddie!” Brian interrupts. “Must you suggest this every time you see the man?”

“Oh, come on! He’s a bongo player! Of course, he wants a chance to make beautiful music on my ass.”

Mickey entirely wishes for a magical hole to appear below to swallow him.

Marc, on the other hand, welcomes the flirtatious banter. “I’m sorry, Freddie. Hands off my pretty percussionist. You have your own,” he scans their surroundings and instantly locates a certain blond drummer. “Well, if it isn’t the sweet and lovely Roger Taylor.”

Roger smirks at the overtness. “Hello, Marc. Killer show tonight.”

“Thank you, love,” Marc moves to squeeze himself between Roger and Brian. “I need to show you the grand racing car I’ve acquired.”

Roger’s eager, of course. “Fuck, I can’t wait to make some money and get one of my own to show off.”

“Don’t fret about that. It’ll happen for you lot, trust me.” Marc lays his hand on Roger’s knee. “For now, you can get your hand on my grease gun any time you want.”

Roger groans and rolls his eyes, while Freddie and Marc giggle at the innuendo. It’s a terrible line, but there’s something in it that sticks in Roger’s mind. Might work for a song lyric, he thinks.

“So ungrateful with my generous offer,” Marc fakes indignation. “I bet Deacy would welcome the opportunity to ride my wheels. Where is he?”

“I’m afraid he ran off with Steve,” Brian answers. “Doing secret bass player things.”

Marc sees the two in a corner, each’s long limbs flailing excitedly in response to whatever the other was saying. “Oh, no. Don’t suppose we’ll escape the night without something exploding or catching fire?”

“Doesn’t look likely,” Brian says seriously at first, then cracks a smile in Marc’s direction. “You were great tonight, Marc. Using a tambourine on your guitar is daring. Not something I could chance doing with my guitar though.”

“I don’t blame you. Not with that unique instrument of yours. You absolutely have to tell me how you make that incredible sound for ‘Ogre Battle.’ ”

The two huddle closer together as Brian writes down the notes and techniques he uses on a napkin.

Meanwhile, Freddie and Mickey wander behind the couch they’re sat on.

“It’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins,” Freddie remarks at how the two heads of dark curls almost meld to one by how close the two are next to each other.

Mickey giggles at the view. “Almost afraid the curls will tangle, and they’ll be stuck that way.” He turns to Freddie. “They’re lost to us for the night, it seems.”

Freddie nods in agreement, then smirks wickedly. “Care to take me up on my earlier offer?”

To Freddie’s surprise, Mickey shrugs in answer and takes his hand to lead him out the room.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
